Hell is the Outback
by Tsuki no kimi
Summary: England was going to regret the day he ever gave Australia his home address.


**A/N: Good afternoon, internet? *brick'd* Uh. This. Firstly, I'm not Australian, so if I made some kind of terrible mistake with their culture or- then again, this IS supposed to be a stereotype. Anyway, Australia needs more love 'cause he's cute. 'Nuff said. Also, I'm not sure whether or not I should continue this, but I posted it anyway for the hell of it - so any critique or feedback is much appreciated! **

England had just been enjoying a nice cup of tea when all peace and tranquility shattered before his very eyes.

Okay, so he hadn't seen the boy in a while – but was it really necessary to break down his door in order to make a point?

With a loud clatter and a noisy, "G'DAY, MATE!" his incessant ex-colony sauntered in to the sitting room as if he owned the place, cricket bat swinging dangerously from a loose fist. "Iggy! How y'been doin' all holed up'n this rainy island of yours?" He gave an obnoxious laugh.

For a minute, all England could do was stare in utter bewilderment at the tall, lanky nation that was tracking mud onto his living room carpet with a comfortable grin settled on his face. He could dimly see that horrible small grey furry... _thing _behind him, gnawing on a chest of drawers and leaving deep gauge marks with his claws.

He finally managed a strangled yelp of, "—Australia?" before the man was bouncing down cheerfully on the armchair opposite. "Yeeaaahhh! See, Iggy, I came to visit my fawesome old dictator!"

England could practically sense all the misspellings in Australia's sentence, as if all his dialogue was being displayed at the bottom of his line of vision. What _had _this boy done to the poor English language? It was hard to decide who had messed it up worse, him, or Alfred. Getting back to the task at hand, he shuffled as far back into the chair as he could go and regarded Australia with a stern eye. "I was not your dictator. I was your mother country!"

"OH R'LLY?" All he got in reply to his correction was another grin and an internet meme. "I dimly remember somethin' about you shippin' all your criminals down under!"

Taking a wavering drink of tea, and wishing he had dumped some hard liquor in it, England regarded him with bleary eyes. "It was convenient."

"Mmmm-hmmm." He wasn't even _listening_. "And, Iggy, haven't I told you to call me Brucie?"

"Haven't I ever told you not to call me _Iggy_?" Where did he pick this up? It took several hours to get from his house to anywhere. He hadn't been visiting _America, _had he – Oh, dear _God._

Taking another long drink of tea (Oh, why oh why oh why couldn't he just run up and fetch the gin bottle right now?), he tried to say in a casual manner, "You haven't seen anything of America lately, have you?"

Australia stopped halfway through his long ramble about cricket and tilted his head to one side as his eyes glittered mischievously. "Of course! I've been catching up with a lot of your old colonies lately, actually."

England's blood ran cold.

"I mean, I've been talking to New Zealand, since he's right next door n'all, and India's been doing well lately – and then there's Alfred." He shook his head, as if to imply that the last time he had seen the United States of America he had been having a hot dog eating contest or something.

...Well, knowing Alfred, that was really quite plausible.

" – And I'm pretty sure there was some guy who lived just to the north of his house... wonder where he went?" Australia fell into a thoughtful silence.

"You mean... what'shisface?"

"Yes, him." Australia perked up again with a maniacal look on his face. "Actually, we were thinking, why not have one big giant reunion together!"

It was as if Australia had just announced the coming of the apocalypse; England tipped over sideways in his armchair, tea spilling all over his chest as he let out a strangled yelp of repulsion. "PLEASE TO GOD, NO!"

"Awwww, come on, mate!" Australia whined. "Hey, here's an idea – _we'll make it a barbie!_"

"I said, no!" England snapped, righting himself and stalking out of the parlour. Much to his dismay, Australia _got up and began following him_, leaving his satanic koala bear to gnaw at the hardwood. "Why noooooot, Iggy? It'll be fun!"

"No."

"We'll throw some 'roo on the grill!"

"Disgusting, no!"

"But it tastes like chicken!"

"Of course not!" England snapped, turning around and stubbornly crossing his arms over his argyle sweater vest (He didn't care what France said, sweater vests were _timeless_!) "Why would – why would I want to see _any_ of them again?" he demanded. They had all left him, for chrissakes! America had been first — his stomach flipped at the horrible memories of stars and stripes and bayonets... Then his brother had started throwing tantrums spouting more independence rubbish, and slowly his colonies had slipped through his fingers. No matter how many battles he fought, how many bullets his army fired, no matter how many nights he stayed up, moving miniature troops obsessively across maps until he slumped over the table asleep —they all slipped away quietly or noisily, through the years, until there was nothing left but him – alone in a dark and empty house.

"_Iiiiiiiggyyyy_?" Australia waved a hand in front of his face, and on reflex he swatted it away. "No! I'm not doing it, final!"

He gave another dramatically distressed face. "Iggy! Don't you see? You don't have a _choice_! We're all gonna drag you out to party with us 'cause we _care_ and don't want you to live your life anymore alone and lame and useless!... Iggy?"

"Yes?"

"This is an INTERVENTION."

"... A- what?"

"Iggy," Australia said very seriously, taking him by the shoulders. England immediately became rigid.

"Wh-what are you doing, you – you div!" Usually, his wide and colourful array of British insults made him back off. Apparently, not today.

"Iggy, this's a serious addiction! You can't continue to live your life this way. The first thing t' do is _admit you have a problem._"

"I don't have a problem!"

Australia _tsked_, giving him a very scary frown. "Iggy, I think you're in denial! Now, be a good chap 'nd admit it already."

"I am _not_ in denial!" England cried back hotly. "What could I _possibly_ be addicted to, you nit?"

His made Australia stop and think for a minute.

"Erm... tea?"

England heaved a great sigh of frustration. "You're absolutely insane! Why are you still here, anyway? Get your satanic _thing _off my hardwood floor and get _out _of my house!"

"Now you're talkin' in exclamation points," Australia cleverly observed, squinting into his furious ex-sovereign country with a look of mild unsettlement. "Y'should sit down, Iggy, and I'll make you more tea."

England stood still for a minute, breathing hard and considering his options, before sighing and allowing himself to be led back down to the armchair. In another few minutes, his ex-colony was coming out with a second cup of tea, looking uncharacteristically docile. It brought back better days, of the boy with the tanned face who used to bring him tea in his canvas tent before running off across the outback to play with rabbits... back when he was the British Empire, all-powerful—

"Reliving th' glory days, Iggy?" Australia asked brusquely, earning another glare. "Of course not!"

"I'll take that as a _yeah_?" Australia raised his large eyebrows. "Y'know, you could always just visit us 'stead of being all emo like this."

"I am _not_ emo!—"

"Maybe not yet!" Australia barked over him, interrupting. "But probably!"

Stunned, the United Kingdom couldn't get a word in edgewise as the other country slumped back into his seat, lazy grin back in place. "What was I saying? Yeah... yeah, y' should visit us more, mate. Sure, you sure were an ass who tried to squash our liberation spirit back then, but the hatchet's been buried n' we're all right! "

England barely didn't catch the end; but when he did, he stiffened. "_Bury the hatchet_?"

"I–" Australia gave England a rather vapid, perfectly crescent smile. "–Erm, _yeeeeees?_" Australia _never _said yes. It was always _yeah. _

"... Bury the hatchet?" The ex-Empire raised his voice, standing up out of his armchair and looming over the terrified country-continent.

Finally catching on and proceeding to flail his arms, narrowly missing a lamp, Australia panicked. "I- I mean, drown the kangaroo! Hide the boomerang! Kill the koala!"

"Now you're adopting _his slang as well_?" Green eyes narrowed accusingly at him.

"N-No, it just slipped out, mate!" his voice came out as a squeak. "Honestly, I-"

England started pacing agitatedly. "And I hear you're fangirling all his pop stars like some kind of teenage girl now, too! What happened to Kylie Minogue?"

"Sh-she's still ace, mate, but they're-"

"I should have never let you in!" England raged, yanking on the end of his jumper-vest angrily. "Never mind that you _broke down my bloody door, _you have to start _fraternizing with that burger dolt_! Don't any of you have a _drop _of loyal blood left in your veins?"

"SIT DOWN!" Australia raised his voice over the other man's again, shoving England forcefully back into the armchair. "AND DRINK SOME MORE TEA," he added, giving him a very unsettling smile.

"What was I saying? Oh, right, we were talking about how you should visit us more often besides you decided to get angry, weren't we? Yeah, yeah." The southern country cleared his throat. "So, we were thinking – _why not have one big giant fun campin' trip so that we can bond!_"

Silence.

Silence reigned over the house, to the extent that you could have heard one of England's embroidery needles drop. The ticks of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded louder than a rocket launch.

"...Are you high?" England finally uttered, eyes widening in shock. Australia merely gave a childish giggle. "'Course not, do you have kangaroos loose in your top paddock?"

A green eye twitched; an almost identical green eye blinked back. "What?"

"Kangaroos loose in the top paddock?" Australia replied hesitantly.

"_What?_"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Anyway," Australia said briskly, tapping his hiking boot onto the Chinese rug (Yao would have a _fit_) and shedding dirt into the fibers. "Are you going to say yes already, Iggy?"

England hesitated; terrible scenarios flitted through his head, most of which involved a furious Seychelles slapping him with a fish or Sealand whining at him about recognizing him as a country the whole weekend.

"... Fine, but–" before he could finish his sentence, the Australian had pulled him into a maniacal hug. "IGGY!"

"–Let me finish! Don't misunderstand, I'm doing this for my sake...! Are you even listening to me?" Evidently, Australia was not; he was too busy trying to quash the much smaller and slighter man's lungs. "Iggy! I'm so happy! I'll book the flight!"

With extreme difficulty, England extracted himself from his ex-colony's wiry arms. "Wait! What's all this about a- a _flight_?"

Australia picked at the band-aid on his nose, a rather alarming leer on his face. "Well, Iggy, we thought a terrific way to bond would be to camp, right?"

"Yes, I understood that through all your slurs, thanks to some miracle. What about it?"

"Well, we're going camping – in the Australian outback!"

As of _now_, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland was undeniably and irrevocably _fucked_.


End file.
